Skeletons
by MidnightUnderMoonlight
Summary: “Everyone’s got skeletons in their closets, Lindsay,” Mac said. “Even you.” He crossed his arms and regarded her critically, but gently. “What demons are you trying to hide?” DL
1. Chapter 1

**Skeletons**

**Summary: Everyone's got skeletons in their closet. Even Lindsay. Now that her 'bloody' secret is out, and her past comes back with a vengeance. DL**

"_Mama?" Lindsay rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Mama, what's going on?"_

_Lindsay's mother rushed into her bedroom and shut the door quietly, her breathing hard and labored._

_She hastily grabbed her daughter's right arm and started dragging her out of bed. "Hurry, Lindsay. Get up!" she whispered frantically. "Quick now, hide under your bed."_

_Lindsay scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion and lay petrified in her bed. It was 2 am in the morning, and her mother wanted her to do what? Was this some sort of trick?_

"_Mama? What's going on?" she asked._

_Her mother's eyes widened in desperation as she continued tugging and pulling Lindsay, this time more hysterically. "Please, Lindsay. Don't ask questions. Just get under your bed. Do it for me, okay?"_

_Now Lindsay was starting to panic. Something wasn't right. "But, I don't even fit under my bed!" Lindsay cried. "Mama, why aren't you telling me what's wrong?"_

_She was now on her hands and knees on the carpet, her mother still trying to shove her underneath her bed. "You'll fit, pumpkin. Don't worry," she said. "You have to, for God's sake."_

_Her mother had called her 'pumpkin'. She never called Lindsay 'pumpkin' unless she had horrible news to tell her. _

_Lindsay forced herself underneath her bed, tears streaming down her face. She was drowning in a wallop of emotions and she didn't know what to do. "Mama!" she whimpered. "Mama, please! Tell me what's happening. Where's Papa? Why isn't he here?"_

_Her mother froze at the mention of her father. A glazed look came over her features as she eyed her daughter perilously and sorrowfully. "Papa's just not here right now. Don't worry, pumpkin. Everything will be all –"_

_Heavy footsteps coming up the stairs cut her off. She glanced frighteningly at the door and shoved her daughter deeper and further under the bed. "It's okay," she reassured Lindsay. "Whatever happens, I want you to stay quiet."_

"_But, Mama – "_

_Her mother cut off her protests. "No 'buts' Lindsay. Whatever happens, don't move and don't make a sound."_

_The footsteps were growing louder and getting closer._

_Lindsay's mother ducked her head underneath the bed and gave her daughter a quick peck on the forehead. "I love you, pumpkin. Papa does, too. Remember, don't make any noises."_

_Lindsay was about to say something when her mother draped the bed covers over her, shielding her from what, she didn't know._

_A moment of silence passed, and nothing happened. Lindsay had no idea if her mother was even still in the room. The violent footsteps that had sounded just moments ago were gone. Lindsay willed a shaking hand toward her bed covers, suppressing the urge to pull them apart and jump out from underneath her hiding spot. A sudden creaking noise sounded, and Lindsay's hand froze in midair. _

_Without warning, Lindsay's bedroom door slammed opened, causing her to flinch at the pounding impact. The tears that had momentarily subsided returned with full force._

_Lindsay snuck a peak through a small crack of her bed covers and saw big, black combat boots treading slowly into her room. She sniffled, trying to control her sobs. Where was her mother?_

_The stranger growled, took three steps, and looked behind inside Lindsay's closet. That was when her mother unleashed and ear piercing scream. Lindsay cringed. She couldn't stop crying. She wanted to jump out from her hiding spot. She didn't understand what was going on. Her mother kept screaming. She wouldn't stop. The strange man kept yelling back. That was when Lindsay heard it – the hard impact of skin on skin. The man had hit her mother. The hitting continued. And her mother's unrelenting cries made Lindsay bawl even harder. She wanted to help her mother, but she couldn't. Her mother had told her to hide and stay quiet. She couldn't mover from her spot. She was too terrified._

"_No . . ." Lindsay sniveled softly. "Mama . . ."_

**Briiiiiing! Briiiiiing!**

Big, doe like eyes shot open and searched their surroundings frantically. Sweat poured down Lindsay's face, all the way down to the nape of her neck. Her breathing was rough and strenuous and her mouth felt dry. She'd had the dream again. It was always the same one.

**Briiiiiing! Briiiiiing!**

Lindsay eyed her cell phone despairingly. She should be thanking it, really; rather than threatening it with her eyes. If her phone hadn't rung, then her dream would have continued. Lindsay shuddered at the thought. If her phone hadn't woken her up, she would have finished her nightmare, and that was something that she did not want to do.

**Briiiiiing! Briiiiiing!**

She stared at her cell phone for another moment before she snatched it up and checked the caller ID. _Mac Taylor_. Lindsay swung her legs over her bed and snapped her phone open, clearing her throat slightly before she pressed the 'talk' button.

"Yeah, Mac?"

Mac sighed tritely over the receiver. "Lindsay," he greeted her. "We have a DUA in Washington Square Park. Stella and Hawkes are already there."

Lindsay tossed her bed sheets aside and got up. "Sure, Mac."

Lindsay shut her phone and tossed it onto her bed. She massaged her temples exhaustedly and looked at herself in the mirror. The whites of her eyes were red and bloodshot, and dark heavy bags were beginning to form around them. Lindsay exhaled noisily. She knew from experience that no amount of make up or concealer could truly hide them. She just hoped her co-workers would be too consumed in the case – like they usually were – to notice her physical state.

"Lindsay, are you okay?"

'_So much for being consumed in the case_,' Lindsay thought jadedly. The moment she'd stepped foot on the crime scene, Stella rounded on her. The redness in her eyes was now a light pink, but the bags underneath were still evident.

"Didn't get enough sleep," she replied. Half the truth was better than no truth at all.

Stella's eyes narrowed slightly but nonetheless, she shook off any suspicions, and nodded in understanding. "Waking up to a murder is never pleasant," she sympathized.

Lindsay's focus wavered indistinctly at her comment, but she promptly covered it up. This was neither the time nor the place for personal issues.

She set down her kit and kneeled in beside the victim. "So, what do we have?" she asked.

"A single bullet, right through the chest," Hawkes answered. "I'm pretty sure it pierced the heart, but we'll verify it with Hammerback."

Lindsay nodded and pulled on her latex gloves, ignoring the slight unsettling feeling in her head. She blinked abrasively, attempting to knock out the queasiness. The lack of sleep was really getting to her.

"You sure you're feeling okay?" Hawkes asked, his face engraved with concern. "You look a little sick."

' '_Little' is an understatement_,' Lindsay thought to herself.

"I'm all right," she assured him.

Hawkes eyed her judiciously before returning his concentration back to the victim. Lindsay let out a deep breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She'd never been good at lying, however, she was usually able to put up a façade just as good as the smartest criminals.

Lindsay felt like she had just dodged a bullet by Hawkes. Two bullets if she included Stella. But who knew how many more were to come?

_**(A/N) **_

_**Okay. The idea for this story has been roaming around in my head for WEEKS now. I just had to get it out. It's going to be different from 'Getting To Close'. This story is going to focus A LOT on Lindsay's personal life. Not too much where it bores you readers to death, but enough to keep the intrigue going. It's going to reveal the reason why she became involved in forensics. It's the type of situation were the past comes back to haunt her. 'Getting To Close' is focused more on Lindsay's reaction to a case (think 'Stealing Home') and how it affects her as a human being, and not just a CSI. In other words, this story is going to be a little heavier than 'Getting To Close.' Let me know if you like it or not!**_

_**On a side note, Danny's role in this story will be faintly more important then his role in 'Getting To Close'.**_

_**On another side note, to my loyal reviewer PurrificationArrow who is in the dark on CSI: New York, "DL" means "Danny/Lindsay". It's a shipping thing. Like what most fan fictions are about! You should watch the show; it's rather interesting! And no need to worry, I'll update 'Can't Hide' very soon – possibly by Saturday of next week. Maybe you can spread that around to other people who are waiting on that story! Lol!**_


	2. Chapter 2

Skeletons

"Lindsay, maybe you should take a break."

The brown haired, brown-eyed CSI looked up from her microscope at the suggestion. But the moment she did, a horrible surge of nausea overwhelmed her senses. The room started to spin slightly, and instead of one Stella, she saw two. Lindsay closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to stop the dizziness.

Stella swiftly reached out a hand to help steady her. "Whoa there . . . you all right?"

Lindsay licked her lips, blinking back tears, as she waved off Stella. "I'm fine," she guaranteed, laughing nervously. "I'm just concentrating too hard."

The woman in front of her didn't buy it. "Why don't you go to the break room? Make a cup of coffee. Take a nap, maybe?" she recommended.

Lindsay shook her head vigorously. "I said I'm fine," she reassured Stella. "Besides, I need to finish analyzing this."

Stella heaved a sigh, and began tugging Lindsay away from the microscope. "_I_ will finish analyzing that. _You_ need to take a break."

Lindsay protested, trying to loosen herself from Stella's grip. "But, Mac will –"

Stella let her go and crossed her arms, taking a somewhat unwavering stance. "No, Lindsay. I'll take care of Mac. This is pretty open and shut case. Hawkes will help me wrap this up. I want _you_ to go to the break room and take a nap. Is that clear?"

Lindsay sighed in defeat. "Crystal."

Right after Lindsay left the lab, Mac came in looking for her. "Where's Lindsay?" he asked Stella. "I need her on another case."

Stella smiled. "Why don't I go?" she proposed, avoiding Mac's question. "Hawkes can wrap this case up himself."

Mac arched an eyebrow at her. "That's okay. I'll get Danny."

He left without another word.

On the way to the break room, Lindsay ran into Danny. Literally.

He grasped her shoulders firmly to sturdy her. "Whoa, Montana. Try looking up when you walk," he teased.

Lindsay looked up and plastered on a smile. "I'll do that," she said.

Danny's eyes broadened when he saw the state she was in. Her face was as pale as the moon and dark, heavy bags hung beneath her bloodshot eyes.

He let out a low whistle. "Damn Monroe, you look like hell."

Lindsay forced the smile to stay on her face. "Coming from you Danny, I'll take that as a compliment," she retorted.

Side stepping to the right, she continued on her way to the break room. Danny turned around and watched her walk away; he couldn't help but detect the unusual edginess to her normally calm voice. He hadn't meant for his comment to come out as callous and insensitive. Concern immediately replaced shock.

"You all right, Monroe?" he called out to her retreating form.

"I'm fine!" she snapped without even looking at him.

He scrutinized her, unmoving from his spot, as she went into the break room. He couldn't get the vision of her pasty and ailing face out of his mind. What was wrong with her? Was she sick?

"Danny!"

Danny woke up from his reverie at his name being called and turned around to find Mac.

"Yeah, boss?"

Mac regarded Danny curiously. "I had to call your name three times."

Danny rubbed his neck and smiled guiltily. "Sorry about that, Mac," he apologized. "What did you page me for?"

"I've got another case on East Houston and Elizabeth Street. Flack's waiting for us right now," Mac said.

Danny nodded, took one last glance at the break room, and left with Mac.

Lindsay perched herself on the edge of the break room sofa. She'd made a cup of coffee, just like Stella told her to do, but she'd yet to drink it. It rested right next to the coffee machine, still steamy and untouched.

She breathed in deeply, struggling to clear her thoughts. '_Maybe I **should** take a nap_,' she contemplated.

But sleeping was what got her into this mess in the first place. If it hadn't been for her reoccurring nightmares . . . Lindsay shook her head, not wanting to finish that thought. The past was the past. Everything that happened back then was no longer a part of her. She needed to focus on the present. Lindsay's eyes skimmed over the sofa she was sitting. '_And maybe focus on getting some actual sleep_,' she thought tiredly.

Settling herself on the worn out couch, she let the soothing ticking of the clock lull her into a deep slumber . . .

Her mother's murderous screams penetrated through the house. But her yells and screeches only made the man lash out more.

"_No!" her mother screamed. "Please, don't!"_

"_Bitch!" the stranger snarled._

_Lindsay whimpered, covering a shaking hand over her mouth. Her breath was coming in short gasps. Nevertheless, she couldn't tear her eyes away from her mother. And she couldn't ignore her mother's screams._

"_Oh, God, stop!" her mother wailed. "Please!"_

_The man gave one final blow to her mother, and then he stopped. So did her mother's screaming. Everything was quiet – too quiet. Lindsay dug her nails into the carpet as she watched the man leave her room. Her eyes skimmed to her mother. She lay in a heap on the floor, unmoving. Was it over? Lindsay took another look at the door, then her eyes traveled back to her mother. She didn't think twice about it. Lindsay scrambled out from underneath her bed and froze when she saw the condition her mother was in._

_Lindsay paled. _

_Blood. There was so much blood. It seeped right through the carpet. And her mother's eyes . . ._

_Lindsay began to tremble. Her mother's eyes were open, and looking right at her. Lindsay choked back a sob and got down on her knees._

"_Mama?" Lindsay cried. "Mama, wake up."_

_She shook her mother's lifeless form with all her might. "M-mama . . ."_

_She saw red. All she could see was the blood. It was on her hands. It was on her pajamas. Her mother's blood was on her body. Lindsay wouldn't stop shaking. She couldn't. _

_Then, a thought struck her. _

"_Papa," she whispered to herself._

_Where was her father? An unexpected, scuffling sound downstairs caught her attention._

"_Papa," she said to herself, this time more determinedly._

_She got up hastily, ignored the blood rushing to her head, and ran out of her room. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that. She reached the top of the stairs, took one step down, and heard a gunshot. Lindsay halted, alarmed and frightened. She squatted next to the handrail, and took another cautious step down. Peeking through the handrail, Lindsay could see her father lying on the living floor. His hands were duct taped behind him, and his mouth was covered with duct tape too. _

_The stranger hovered over her father, a silver gun in his right hand. Lindsay's clutch hardened around the banister. Her mother was dead, and her father was next. She needed to call the police. But the only phones in the house were in the living room and kitchen. Lindsay crouched even lower, trying to get a good look at the murderer that invaded her home._

_Gray eyes. He had steel, gray eyes – the same color as his gun. The gray-eyed man placed a foot on her father's back, and pointed his gun at her father's head. Lindsay's heart skipped a beat. Her breathing stopped. Her eyes glazed over. And then the man pulled his trigger. _

_Three times._

_But Lindsay didn't hear the 'bangs'. She was temporarily immune to the sounds of the gunshots. Her father was killed right before her eyes, execution style, and she didn't hear a single sound. But she saw the blood. And she saw her father's body jerk in reaction to the bullets piercing through his body. She saw her father's eyes roll up, and just for the slightest moment, his deep brown eyes made contact with hers. Then he was gone. Lindsay lost her grip on the banister. She couldn't feel anything. All her senses were lost. All except for her sight. Once again, she was lost in a sea of red._

"_Papa . . ." she murmured. "Papa, no . . ."_

"Lindsay . . ."

Blood. Metallic red and thick.

"Lindsay . . . Lindsay . . ."

It was all over her mother's beaten body and splattered completely across her father's face.

"Lindsay!"

Lindsay woke up in a sudden haze, feeling both scared and reprieved at being pulled from her nightmare. Two hands had embraced themselves onto her shoulders. Two blurry faces materialized in her line of sight. Lindsay rubbed her eyes clear of her sleep.

"Stella?"

Stella looked at her apprehensively, and dropped her grip on Lindsay's shoulders. She placed a comforting hand on her arm, instead. "Lindsay, what's wrong?" she asked pointblank.

Lindsay shook her head. "It's nothing," she fibbed. "Just a bad dream."

Hawkes stood adjacent to Stella, and gave Lindsay an unconvinced frown. "We had to call your name about ten times. You were mumbling in your sleep."

"And you were tossing and turning," Stella added, concerned. "That doesn't sound like 'nothing' to me."

"I had a bad dream," Lindsay vindicated. "That's all."

Stella and Hawkes swapped looks of disbelief.

Lindsay decided to change the subject. "So did you wrap up the case?"

Stella gave Lindsay an incredulous glare, but opted to let Lindsay slide. For now. "It was the next door neighbor. Classic story of jealousy and revenge."

Lindsay nodded as Hawkes went into detail about the breaking evidence in the case. All the while, Lindsay felt as if she'd dodged another couple of bullets.

_**(A/N)**_

_**Thanks to all those who reviewed! And thank goodness fixed their uploading problem. Here's hoping this chapter uploads correctly! Read and review and let me know what you think.**_


	3. Chapter 3

Skeletons

The victim's body lay mangled on the corner of East Houston and Elizabeth Street with multiple stab wounds to his back. The blood was still fresh, oozing from his gashes across the concrete sidewalk.

Danny followed Mac under the yellow crime scene tape, juggling both his camera and kit. He cringed when he saw the body resting in a jumbled, gory mess.

"That's not pretty," Danny mused.

Mac chucked a slightly exasperated glance in Danny's direction.

"You're not one to talk about looking good, Messer," Flack remarked, walking up to the duo.

Danny grinned.

A look of weariness from Mac put both boys back in line.

Flack cleared his throat. "Right," he said sheepishly. "Victim's name is Mark Mayor. 29 years old. A passerby called it in. Says she found him here when she walked out from the hotel. The guy's not even a native. He's from California."

Mac crouched next to Mark Mayor's body, inspecting the stab wounds. "I count four of them," he said. "Someone must of come up behind him. Taken him by surprise."

Danny nodded. "No sign of struggle," he observed, lifting the victim's right arm. "He probably bled to death."

Mac beckoned Flack. "You said he wasn't from New York?" he asked,

"Nope," Flack answered, flipping through his notes. "His Driver License and ID said he was from Los Angeles, California."

"Well, if he isn't from here, he's got to be staying somewhere," Danny theorized. "Maybe with family? A friend's place?"

"How about a hotel?" Mac suggested.

He pulled out a hotel key card from the victim's back pocket. "Liberty Inn. Room 312," Mac read. "He barely got out of the place before he was killed."

Danny studied the four star hotel right in front of them. "So, you want to go in there or should I?"

Mac took out his flashlight and handed it to Danny, along with the victim's card. "Take Flack with you," he instructed.

Danny blinked. " . . . well, all right then."

Flack led the way up the hotel stairs. "Room 312? That would make him on the third floor," he informed Danny.

Danny took out the key card and slid it into the key slot when they reached the hotel room. He opened the door guardedly, letting Flack walk in first. He surveyed the room, his gun drawn. Danny waited patiently at the door until Flack finished his process.

"It's clear," he said, strapping his gun back on his hip.

Danny went it, setting down his kit, shaking his head. "Man, my own place is barely half the size of this room."

Flack chuckled. "Four star hotel, Messer. No cop's place is half as nice as this."

Flipping on his flashlight, Danny walked meticulously around the room, searching for any hair out of place. The bed looked like it was never even slept in and a single suitcase was propped against the dresser. The wastebasket was empty as well.

Danny glowered. "Hey, Flack?"

"Yeah?"

"Did the maids already clean this place up?"

Flack looked around the room, noticing how dust free everything was. "Probably."

"Great," Danny muttered sardonically. "So any evidence may have been picked up, wiped, or vacuumed. Do me a favor, man, and help out."

He threw a pair of latex gloves at Flack, who caught it in midair.

Flack stared at the pair of foreign gloves in his hands, eyebrows arched in amusement. "This wasn't part of the job description," he voiced.

Danny shined his flashlight right into his friend's eyes. Flack winced, holding up his hands to block the brightness.

"Yeah, well, being killed wasn't part of Mark Mayor's vacation description," Danny countered, smirking. He brought the flashlight back down. "I'm going check the bathroom."

Flack watched him walk away, and returned his gaze back to the CSI fashion accessory in his possession.

He sighed. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

He slipped on the gloves and took out his own mini flashlight. Nothing appeared wrong with the room. And that was just the problem Danny complained about. He walked over to the dresser and began opening the drawers.

"Empty," he mumbled, closing the first drawer.

He opened the second one. "Empty."

And then the third. "Empty."

" . . . empty . . . empty . . .emp –"

Flack halted, narrowing his eyes. "_Not_ empty."

He reached his hand inside the drawer and pulled out a neat, clean manila envelope. He stood up from his squatting positioned and popped the small, metal tabs on the back. Glimpsing inside, he could make out a couple pieces of some form of articles. Flack flipped the envelope upside down and shook out its contents. They tumbled out of the packet face down. He was wrong. They weren't papers; they were pictures.

Flack turned over one of the photos, and froze. He didn't know what he was expecting when he flipped the photograph over, but he certainly wasn't expecting to see what he was looking at now. Needless to say, it wasn't a pleasant surprise. It was far from it. Flack turned over another picture. And then another. And another. They were all of the same person. And they were all candid shots.

He picked up one of the close up images. The word 'stalker' came to mind.

Danny walked out of the bathroom at that moment. "I got nothing," he grumbled. "You?"

Flack gulped, never taking his eyes of the snapshots. "Oh, I've got something," he said. "You better take a look at this."

Confused, yet intrigued, Danny walked over to Flack to see what he was fussing about. When he reached Flack's side, he faltered.

Flack handed him the picture he was holding. "They're dozens of them. And they're all of her, Danny."

In all his life, Danny had never felt so many emotions at once. Anger, bewilderment, anxiety . . . but above all, fear.

He fondled the photo in his hand. "We need to tell Mac."

"Already ahead of you," Flack said, dialing Mac's number.

"Where did you find them?" Danny inquired.

"Bottom right drawer," Flack answered, waiting for Mac to pick up. "They were in that manila envelope. The rest of the drawers were empty."

Danny stared at the photos laid out on the bureau. A few showed her going to and from work. Several showed her in her apartment. All of them were incredibly intimate. Some sick bastard . . .

"Mac?" Flack finally reached Mac. "Yeah, we've, uh, got a . . . dilemma. You better come up here."

He hung up. "Coroner's here to pick up the body, so Mac's on his way."

Danny took out his own cell phone. He dialed her number, but no one picked up. He dialed again. Still no answer.

"Damn it," he said. "She's not picking up."

Flack gave him a worried look.

"I'm going to try Stella," Danny said.

After a few rings, Stella answered. "Bonasera."

"Stella," Danny said with relief. "Is Lindsay with you?"

"No . . . she's with Hawkes. Why?"

Danny gave the pile of photographs another fleeting look. "Just make sure she isn't by herself. I'll explain when I get back to the lab."

Before Stella could demand an explanation, Danny hung up. He tossed the snapshot he was holding back on the dresser.

"What do think it is?" Flack asked. "Stalker?"

"What's this about a stalker?" Mac questioned, entering the room.

Danny showed their boss the pictures. "They're all of her, Mac. Every single one."

Mac looked at the stack of pictures, doing a double take. "Did you call her?"

"I couldn't get a hold of her," Danny replied. "But I reached Stella."

Mac nodded. "Get these photos back to the lab," he instructed. "We need to figure out what it is exactly we're dealing with."

Danny licked his lips uncertainly. "Do you think she's in some sort of danger?" he asked dreadfully.

" . . . I don't know."

For once, Mac didn't have the answer.

BACK AT THE LAB . . .

Stella left her office in a hurry and barged into the break room to find Lindsay and Hawkes having coffee. Danny sounded unbelievably strange on the phone. Desperate almost. Naturally, it had scared the hell out of her and prompted her to search for Lindsay.

Both Hawkes and Lindsay gawked at Stella as she stumbled in.

"Something wrong?" Hawkes asked, wide eyed.

Stella looked amid her co-workers, suddenly realizing how out of character she'd just acted, storming in like that.

She straightened her suit blazer. "Nothing," she said quickly. "Nothing's wrong."

An awkward stillness followed.

Lindsay nearly laughed. Stella was a typically calm and collected woman. The way she ran in, it was a once in a lifetime sight.

She looked at Stella worriedly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm fine," Stella said. "I just got a, uh, _strange_ call from Danny."

"Well . . . it _is_ Danny," Lindsay offered in justification.

Hawkes smiled. "What was the call about?"

Stella hesitated, her eyes flickering indecisively at Lindsay. "He –"

The sudden ringing of her cell phone cut her off.

"Bonasera."

"Stella?" came Mac's voice. "Is Lindsay with you?"

"She is," Stella answered anxiously.

Apparently, it wasn't just Danny.

"Mac, what's wrong? First I get a call from Danny, and now you?"

At overhearing this question, Hawkes and Lindsay stopped sipping their coffees and gazed at Stella inquisitively.

Stella heard Mac sigh over the receiver. "Just make sure she isn't alone. I'm in the building right now. I'll explain soon enough. And tell her to turn on her cell."

He hung up.

Stella stared at her phone. A sinking feeling entered the pit of her stomach. Mac rarely let anything get to him, and if Mac was concerned about something, it meant the whole team should be head over heels in anxiety.

Lindsay placed her hand on top of Stella's, wrenching the woman out of her thoughts.

"Stella?"

Stella snapped her phone shut. "Lindsay, you should turn on your cell phone."

"Um . . . okay." And Lindsay did just that.

Right after she did, it began ringing.

'_That was unexpected_,' she thought.

"Monroe."

"Lindsay," it was Mac. "I need you to meet me in my office now."

"I'll be right over," she said, puckered brow.

She got up from her seat, throwing what was left her coffee into the sink. "Mac wants to see me," she informed her two colleagues, and left the room.

Stella and Hawkes bartered looks of vacillation before they got up and followed her.

If Lindsay had known she'd walk into Mac's office feeling confident and then leave feeling numb and disheartened, she would have made her walk more worth the while.

Standing outside Mac's office were Danny and Flack, both looking rather apprehensive. They stopped talking to one another the moment Lindsay strolled up.

She smiled at them cautiously. "You two look nervous," she observed. "Someone in trouble?"

Flack and Danny gaped at her. She had no idea how right she was.

"Lindsay," Mac opened his office door, ignoring the troubled glances Danny was shooting Lindsay. "Inside."

Lindsay went in, and closed the door quietly behind her. Stella and Hawkes walked up, watching Lindsay go inside. Stella wheeled around, arms crossed and an indomitable look across her features.

"All right," she said in a deathly calm tone, looking between Danny and Flack. "What's going on?"

_**(A/N)**_

**_Oooooh, wonder what it could be? Although, I'm pretty sure you all have a good guess on what's happening. Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think. Thanks to all those who reviewed!_**


	4. Chapter 4

Skeletons

_(A/N): I apologize for the extreme delay in this chapter and future chapters to come. AP's, scholarships, and college applications are kind of killing me right now. Senior year . . . what are you going to do? Thanks to those who stuck with me on all my stories. I really do appreciate it. You guys are the best!_

"You'd better sit down for this, " Mac advised.

Lindsay crossed her arms somewhat stubbornly. "I think I'll stand," she said.

She noticed he was adorning a pair of latex gloves and had a rather thick folder in his hands.

Mac nodded reluctantly. "All right."

Without further hesitation, he popped the tabs of the manila folder and shook out its contents.

Lindsay froze.

Upon entering Mac's office, Lindsay had braced herself for the worst. She thought it was enough. One look at the snapshots currently piled on Mac's desk, and she knew it wasn't.

Arranged on Mac's desk were dozens of photos – all of her. Every single shot was exceptionally candid and personal.

"W-what . . ." Lindsay paused, trying to find her voice, but failing miserably.

She choked back a small exclamation of confusion. "W-what is this?" she demanded, her pitch letting out the slightest tremble.

Mac studied her carefully, buying his time and striving to choose the right words. He didn't want to sound accusing, but he didn't want her to think he was siding with whatever story she had to offer.

"That's what I'd like to know," he said, answering her previous question.

Lindsay chewed her bottom lip uncertainly, her eyes wide with disbelief, incomprehension, and worry. Her boss' face was set: aloof, yet calculating.

'_So this is what it feels like to be on the other side of the interrogation table,'_ she thought despondently. When he wanted to be, Mac was a force to be reckoned with. His cross-examination skills were unquestionable. The moment the man started to grill you for answers, there was no turning back. Of course, before this, she was just a spectator. She only watched how he'd probe and probe until he finally got what he wanted. Now she was on his receiving end, and for a split second, she almost sympathized with any suspect that may have crossed paths with Mac.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked, her expression barely a whisper. "You think I have something to do with this?"

"These photos were found in the hotel room of our victim," Mac explained. "I'm not putting blame on you of any form. I just want to know if you are in anyway connected."

"I'm not," Lindsay confirmed without delay.

He halted briefly to gaze at her, and then nodded. "All right," he said, accepting her response, knowing better than to dig any further.

He pulled out another photo from a different folder on his desk and placed it atop of a shot of Lindsay walking out of her apartment.

"This is our victim, Mark Mayor," Mac said, pointing at the picture. "Do you recognize him?"

Lindsay examined the photo, concentrating hard. Flashes of people's faces swirled inside her head as she tried to place his features with one of them.

"No," she said finally. "I don't."

Mac frowned, slipping the photo back in its place.

"You are aware that you're now a part of this investigation? That you're now connected to this murder?"

MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE MAC'S OFFICE . . .

"There were 2-dozen of them, Stella," Danny said desolately.

He rubbed the nape of his neck, massaging his tense muscles and trying to untie the overwrought knots. He and Flack had just spent twenty minutes telling and retelling Stella and Hawkes of Lindsay's 'dilemma'.

Stella leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed and face full of trepidation for her co-worker and friend.

"And you found nothing else at the crime scene? Not even a hair?" she asked for the third time.

"Nothing," Danny replied, also for the third time. "Adam is going through the suitcase and Hammerback's still examining the body."

Stella sighed.

"My guess is it's a stalker," Flack voiced. "Some sick psycho of an ex-boyfriend or something."

"We can only hope," Stella said.

"How do you think she's doing?" Hawkes mused.

"Who knows?" Stella replied, giving him a tired smile. "We're all waiting on that answer, too."

Hawkes glanced at the door to Mac's office in confusion. "What's she even doing in there in the first place?"

"Getting grilled," Danny answered bitterly.

BACK IN MAC'S OFFICE . . .

Lindsay's vision grew blurry and out of focused as her boss' words echoed through her head. She was connected to a murder. One of which she didn't even know the victim of.

"Am I a suspect?"

Mac stared at the piled of photos on his table. "You've got a logical motivation," he explained. "Someone may be stalking you. You don't like it. Therefore, murder."

Lindsay's hands started to tremble.

"How can I have a motivation when I didn't even know someone was stalking me?" she countered.

"Didn't you?"

Her eyes widened. "You _are_ accusing me," she indicted.

Mac rubbed his eyes, sighing in frustration. They were going in circles.

"We've already been through this. I'm not blaming you for anything. That's why you're in my office and not an interrogation room. Right now, I'm not speaking to you as your boss, but as a friend."

He halted briefly to give her a gauging look.

"You're a strong CSI, Lindsay," he continued. "Now you need to be a strong victim. I'm giving you every opportunity to defend yourself."

Lindsay placed a shaking hand on her hip, the other one drawn up to her face as she messaged her temple.

"Mac . . ." she began, pacing about the room.

She took a deep breath, and looked her boss right in the eyes. "Mac, I swear. I don't know."

Conviction and truth filled her tone. Something regarding this situation was all too familiar to Mac. He had a sudden flashback to a case not so long ago, when Danny had been in a comparable situation. He'd said the exact same words to Mac. And Mac had trusted him.

"I believe you," he said to Lindsay.

Just like he'd said to Danny.

"But you're going to be suspended from field work," Mac said. "And you won't be allowed anywhere near this case. Do you understand?"

Lindsay nodded, although there was something irking her.

"Shouldn't you be taking my badge and gun?" she wondered, her voice almost inaudible.

Mac dug his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "I can only do that if I there is proof you're connected to the murder. All anyone's got on you is a plausible motive. There's no blood on your hands. At least, none that we know of."

Lindsay nodded. '_Of course_,' she thought to herself. How could she have forgotten that?

"So is this the end of the interrogation?" she asked.

The corners of Mac's lips quirked at her question. "This wasn't an interrogation, Lindsay. This was me–" he stopped to point at himself "–trying to figure out if one of my CSIs were in trouble."

Lindsay offered him an appreciative, albeit quivering, half-smile. She was about to leave when Mac called her back.

"You will be questioned, though. By Flack," he informed her. "You're going to need to tell him your whereabouts the time of the murder. That means you'll need an alibi."

Lindsay licked her lips. "Ok."

Her hand rested on the doorknob before she turned back around. "And Mac?"

Mac looked up.

"Thanks for believing me."

Lindsay opened the door, and found four pairs of eyes staring intently at her.

Stella was the first to step forward.

"How are you feeling?" she inquired.

"I'm okay," Lindsay responded.

There was a small pause. Stella looked at her with sympathy, Hawkes and Flack gazed with concern, and Danny stared at her with anxiousness.

Flack rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sorry to do this to you, Monroe. But I'm going to need that statement."

Danny looked like he was going to protest when Lindsay cut him off.

"All right," she consented, giving Danny a warning look.

Flack nodded and indicated for her to follow with a tilt of his head. He led her to the interrogation room and took out his signature notepad.

"You know, I've got to say," Flack declared. "You're handling this pretty well."

Lindsay tossed a look in Flack's direction, one he could not decipher. But he was willing to bet she'd disagreed with his previous statement. He took a seat at the interrogation table and motioned for her to sit across. Lindsay complied.

"All right . . ." Flack sighed. "Where were you this morning between four am and six am?"

Outside the interrogation room, Stella, Hawkes and Danny watched through the glass faux mirror. Mac rounded the corner and noticed his entire team staring fixedly into the questioning between Flack and Lindsay. Danny was the first to notice him.

"Mac," Danny greeted. "Is she in any trouble?"

Their superior shook his head. "Currently, she's as much of a suspect as she is a victim," he elucidated. "We're going to need to pull out her profile and background if her alibi doesn't check out."

Danny's hands clenched into fists. "You want us to investigate her?"

"At this point and time, she's the only connection we have to the victim," Mac said regretfully. "And so far, the only evidence, too."

Stella walked up to the glass window placed a hand on it. "Her alibi better check out," she muttered, looking agitatedly at Lindsay.

"It will," Danny said, eyes focused on Lindsay as well. "It has to."

(A/N): Yay! Another chapter! Oh, I'm so proud of myself. I rushed this chapter, so I apologize for any grammatical errors – which there may be lots of.


	5. Chapter 5

Skeletons

_(A/N): I know, I know. Finally, right?_

Mac's eyes flickered between his cell phone and his office phone. All together, he had a grand total of 27 missed calls.

'_That's got to be some sort of record_,' he mused cynically.

But there was a reason for that imposing number. He'd purposefully avoided answering any phone call thanks to the luxurious invention of Caller ID. Mac knew exactly who was trying to reach him, and why. And it was the 'why' rather than the 'who' he'd been trying to avoid all day.

A knock from his door ended his staring contest with his phones.

"Mac?"

Adam stood in the open doorway awkwardly, his features set to a grim and anxious expression.

"What is it Adam? Did you find anything in Marc Mayor's suitcase?"

The curly haired lab technician shifted his stance, offering his boss a sheepish half smile. "Er, well, no . . . I'm still going through that – I'm almost done, though," he said ineptly. "Actually, there's someone here to see you."

Mac sighed, setting his cell phone down. "Who ever it is, ask them to come back later," he instructed Adam. "I'm busy right now."

By now, Adam was bouncing on his toes and heels.

"I, uh, don't think so Mac."

Mac arched an eyebrow at him, compelling him to elaborate.

"It's the chief of police."

_CSINYCSINYCSINY_

"I must have called you nearly two dozen times, Detective Taylor," the aging man noted.

'_Twenty-seven_,' Mac amended dismally.

"Been busy?"

Mac eyed the chief of police desolately. "I'm in charge of this place," he reminded the man. " 'Busy' is an understatement."

Chief Randall Craig smirked slightly, but quickly replaced with a serious expression. "It's come to my attention that one of your CSI's is under investigation in connection to a murder," he said. "And I'm wondering why I wasn't informed sooner."

'_So close_,' Mac thought sadly. He'd been so close to avoiding the situation that was occurring right before him.

"I'm surprised, Detective Taylor," Craig continued, not expecting an answer from Mac for his previous musings. "You know the rules. Since it is one of your CSI's, you know very well that _you_ cannot initiate anything. You are not allowed on this case."

Mac was getting annoyed. He knew the rules, having applied many of them himself to get his way.

"Mark Mayor's murder is my crime scene," Mac argued. "There is no proof of any 'connection'. If you want to handle Detective Lindsay Monroe's case, then by all means, you can have it. But I keep Mayor."

The chief of police narrowed his eyes. "If you're looking for a loophole, then you won't find one," he reprimanded. "Proof or no proof of connection, you and your team are off _both_ cases. No questions." He paused, eyeing Mac critically before adding, "I will handle them."

By now, Mac was fuming. "My team and I are handling both of these case just fine," he growled. "We've already gathered evidence and gotten a statement from Detective Monroe – "

"Throw them out," the old man interrupted with equal force. "Anything you have is tainted. My team and I will take a look at the evidence, but we won't be using her statement."

"Are you questioning the credibility of my team?" Mac insisted.

"Yes," he answered. "I am."

Without any further quarrelling, Chief Craig turned abruptly and walked back the hall towards the entrance. People around the many labs had come out to watch the exchange, a few throwing sympathetic glances in their boss' direction, others looking at the retreating chief of police's form in distaste.

Stella walked up to her friend and partner from behind and patted his shoulder comfortingly, having witnessed the dispute along with the rest of the lab technicians and scientists. "Let it go Mac," she advised gently. "Besides, Adam couldn't find anything in Mayor's suitcase, anyway."

_CSINYCSINYCSINY_

Flack frowned, making his way towards Mac and the rest of his team lined up against the window of the interrogation room, watching whatever it was that was taking place inside. Only two minutes ago, Mac had called him and ordered him to toss out Lindsay's statement. Flack, confused, had demanded 'what the hell' he meant. The head detective answered by telling him to meet him and the rest of team in Interrogation Room Two at the precinct. Not the crime lab, but the actual police station. The one Flack was in already, sitting at his desk.

"Mac," he called out.

The whole team turned to look in Flack's direction.

"Mind telling me why I had to put Monroe's statement through the shredder just now?"

Mac's face was creased with anxiety and anger as he tilted his head toward the glass. "Because her statement is going through to another team's investigation," he explained. "We're kicked off both cases for affiliation with Lindsay. And anything we've got goes along with it."

"It's a bunch of bull," Danny added heatedly, eyes fixed on the interrogation happening on the other side of the window.

"I'm going to have to go with Danny on this one," Flack concurred. "Why were you kicked of both cases if Monroe's involved in a completely separate one?"

"That's the just the thing," Stella said. "Lindsay's photos were found in the hotel room of our – _their_ – murder vic."

"We treated the cases as one case, and that was our mistake," Mac admitted solemnly. "We should have treated them as two separate occurrences, then maybe we would have stood a chance at keeping Mark Mayor."

"So now everything has to start all over again," Hawkes noted, nodding his head toward the window.

_CSINYCSINYCSINY_

"Let's try this again . . . Ms. Monroe, where were you at the time of Mark Mayor's murder?"

"I was in the break room of the crime lab."

"Between four am and six am?"

"Yes."

"Do you know the exact hour?"

" . . . No."

"And what were you doing?"

Lindsay's eyes flashed.

"Taking a _break_."

Tom Jackson growled, running a frustrated hand through his unruly blonde hair. He had to admit, of all the interrogations he'd gone through in the precinct, this was _not_ the hardest one. But it was the most time-consuming. Most of his suspects confessed to the crime after just a few probes. But the woman in front of him just wouldn't budge.

"Could you go into more detail about this 'break'?"

"I was tired, so I took a nap."

"Yes, we've already achieved that conclusion," he said, his British accent growing thick by the irritation in his tone. "Was that all you did? What about before the break?"

Lindsay's eyes narrowed. "You asked me what I did between four am and six am."

Tom arched an eyebrow. "And that's what you did from exactly four am to exactly six am? I thought we established that you didn't know the precise time of your nap?"

The CSI cursed to herself. He was sharper than he looked.

He continued. "Therefore it could have taken place at, say, 5:30? Or maybe 4:05? And if it did, I want to know what happened before . . . and after. Because, you see, it still applies between the time of Mark Mayor's death."

Tom leaned back into his seat, sighing. "Look Ms. Monroe," he started again. "I know you're not willing to cooperate on account of your team, but you need to put things into perspective – you are tied to a murder through motivation. And you need to tell me the truth. You're a CSI, I know you've been through these types of Q's and A's before, so you know what it's like to have a suspect evade questioning." He paused. "You're not a hypocrite, are you?"

Lindsay's gaze unconsciously drifted to the fake mirror. Normally, she would have been insulted at what Tom had accused her of – or rather, suggested. But he was right. She was avoiding the details, on account of her team.

Tom Jackson's eyes followed her line of sight, and then returned to her.

He blinked. "We don't need a lawyer present, do we?" he inquired, using a manner meant for little children.

Lindsay's jaw line was set as she disregarded his mocking voice. There was no proof of her murdering anyone, but she had a pretty obvious M.O. If she were to cut her link to Mark Mayor, she had to collaborate. Whether she wanted to or not.

Tom must have sensed her resignation from the look in her eyes.

"So . . . how about we give it another go?" he proposed.

Half an hour later, Lindsay walked out of Interrogation Room Two and found her colleagues all waiting anxiously outside for her.

Tom walked out behind her.

"We'll be in touch, Miss Monroe," he said, and left her with her fellow CSIs.

Lindsay watched him leave before she finally fixed her eyes on her team. Once again, Stella took the initiative and wrapped the girl before her in a comforting one-arm hug.

"Don't worry, Lindsay," she consoled. "You'll get through this."

Lindsay tossed her friend a small – albeit quivering – smile. Until she looked past Stella's curly locks and found Danny staring unabashedly at her. Something in his eyes irked her. His form was oddly relaxed, but his face said another story. The man looked dogged and . . . methodical in his thoughts, almost. She'd honestly never encountered this side of him before, and didn't know what to do.

Hawkes stood before her and rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. Flack had his arms crossed and was going on about how the Chief of Police should have at least let them keep Mark Mayor's case, and Mac was shaking his head in slight remorse. All of them surrounded Lindsay.

All of them except for Danny.

He stood by himself, left out of the circle of companions.

'_Don't do anything rash_,' she pleaded silently with her eyes. '_Don't._'

But his face was set. And anything she said or did wouldn't prevent him from doing what he'd set his mind on doing. All she could do was pray.

Pray that nobody got hurt in the process.

_(A/N): A bit short, but it's an update nonetheless. I wonder I anyone is still reading this, or if they even remember . . .? _


	6. Chapter 6

**Skeletons**

_**(A/N): It might help (a lot) to reread the former chapters…because, well, it's been a while, hasn't it?**_

Danny sighed and fell back into the soft cushions of the break room's sofa.

"Long day, eh Messer?" Flack acknowledged, sitting down beside him.

"And getting longer," Danny muttered in response.

Hawkes walked in and found his two companions looking sullen and exhausted on the couch.

He cocked an eyebrow at them both. "Tired?"

They looked at him in agitation.

Hawkes shook his head in distress. "I can only imagine what Lindsay's going through."

At that comment, Danny found himself growing more angry than a sad. "She shouldn't be going through any of this in the first place."

"_Relax_, Messer," Flack reasoned. "I hate the situation as much as you do, but there's nothing we can do about it. We're just going to have to let the Chief do his job."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Lindsay sat at her desk, lost in her old world as she relived her interrogation in her mind.

'…_You are tied to a murder through motivation…_'

It was absolutely insane. The sweet, headstrong girl who transferred from Montana - _handpicked_ by Mac himself - was the prime suspect of a murder. One whom she didn't even know the victim of.

She sighed loudly and leaned back into her computer chair, eyes trailing the ceiling and finally resting on her partner's desk across from her.

Danny's camera rested upon his desk, right nest to his keyboard.

'_He must of forgotten it_,' Lindsay thought.

She leaned across and picked it up, noticing that the memory card was still in tact.

A thought then struck her.

Was this the camera Danny used at Mark Mayor's crime scene?

'_He didn't give it to the Chief_,' Lindsay realized. '_There are vital photos in here and he didn't hand it over when the cases were switch to another team._'

But then, another notion hit her. '_Why didn't he? Why didn't anyone notice? Mac should have had Danny hand it over…_'

Lindsay quickly retrieved the memory card and turned on her computer.

'_I shouldn't jump to conclusions_,' she chastised herself. '_It could be from a completely different crime scene._'

But opening up the windows to all the photos, she realized her first instincts were right.

'_Oh, God. My team is withholding information…_'

She looked through all the photos - images of bloody stab wounds running across her face.

'_Something's off…_' she thought to herself.

Glancing at the Toolbar, she noticed the name of the opened file was not the same case number as it originally was. Standing swiftly up from her seat, Lindsay walked around her desk over to Danny's and turned his monitor on. After a few clicks, she found what she was looking for: Case Files. Opening the link, she scrolled through all the records before she finally found what she was looking for.

Case File No. 478 - NY, NY- DISCONTINUED.

Her case.

She closed all windows opened and erased her history of having last modified anything on Danny's computer.

Settling back in her own desk, Lindsay checked the name of the photos.

Case File Crime Photos No. 478 - NY, NY- DISCONTINUED (CC).

'_CC_'.

Carbon copy.

Theses photos were copies. They weren't the original.

She promptly removed the memory card and stared at it, suddenly remembering the look Danny had given her when she came out of the interrogation room at the police station.

Someone - especially Danny - owed her an explanation.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Stella entered the break room in desperate need of a good cup of coffee only to find her CSI team seated dejectedly on the couch.

She looked at them bemusedly. "Well, I've got to say. This is quite a sight."

They turned their heads simultaneously at the sound of her voice, gazed at her for a couple of seconds, and then went back to their preoccupied thoughts.

Stella frowned. "Oh, c'mon guys. You can't let this beat you up. Lindsay's a strong girl. She'll pull through."

No response.

She breathed in deeply.

"Did you copy the crime scene photos like Mac told you to?" her question was directed toward Danny.

He nodded. "They're on another memory card in my camera."

"What's the use of having these copies if we're not even on the case?" Hawkes mulled out loud.

"Just because we're off the case doesn't mean we shouldn't be able to follow it," Stella rationalized, smiling. "We're just…keeping track of things."

"In other words, you'll be doing your own little investigation while the Chief does his," Flack said, understanding. "I've got to say, Stel, that's clever…and kind of illegal."

"We're not breaking the rules, Flack," Stella smirked. "We're just bending them a little. Loopholes in every law, Detective. You should know that."

"Besides, man," Danny added. "You're off the case, too, for affiliation with Lindsay. Join the law-benders."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Mac walked into his office, solemn-faced and contemplative, and noticed the red light flashing on his answering machine. He pressed the 'Play' button before removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie.

"Detective Taylor," came Chief Randall Craig's throaty voice, "one of my investigators have just informed me that the crime scene photos we retrieved from you have been…toyed with. Apparently, they traced the tagged accounts on the file of the photos and found that somebody copied the evidence. Amazing what the head of my computer and technician administrators can track. That's strike two against you, Mac. One more, and I will personally _take down_ you and your CSI team for interfering with a case that's not yours."

Mac narrowed his eyes. He'd hoped against all hope that Craig had not been smart enough to track down his uses of the photos, but hope was futile when it came to the Chief of Police.

He pushed down the 'Erase' button and fell back into his leather chair.

Mac was just threatened via voicemail, and for the first time in a long time, he was actually worried.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

Lindsay marched into the break room, steadfast and determined for answers.

Seeing her entire team - minus Mac- however, threw her a bit off.

She blinked momentarily before remembering why she'd stalked in there in the first place.

"Danny?"

He looked up at his name being called, along with Stella, Flack, and Hawkes.

"Can I have a word with you?"

He stood up wordlessly and walked out of the break room with her.

"Are you holding up alright, Lindsay?" Danny asked, concerned, once they were out. "Did you need something?"

He sounded so genuine and vexed that Lindsay almost tossed aside the idea he was doing something virtually illegal.

Her grip tightened around the memory card in her right fist.

"Yeah," she said, and held up the little piece of plastic for him to see. "I need you to tell my why you have copies of Mark Mayor's crime scene."

Danny's eyes broadened slightly before they contracted back. "Where did you find that?"

"In your camera," she answered. "Now are you going to tell me why you have copies when you're not supposed to?"

Danny heaved a sigh and threw his head back in exhaustion. "We're following the case."

Lindsay was confused. " 'We'?"

He nodded. "Mac's orders."

Everything was suddenly clear to her. The crime scene photos were copied to keep track of progress.

But one thing still left her in the dark.

"Why wasn't I part of this little scheme?"

"Because you're already involved in something…pretty bad already," Danny replied anxiously, running a hand through his close shaven head of hair. "Mac figured the less you knew, the better. That way, if someone ever figured out what we were doing, you wouldn't be connected."

Lindsay chewed n her lower lip, letting everything Danny had just told her sink in.

'_They were trying to protect me…_' she apprehended.

Taking one last glance at the memory card in the palm at her hand, she offered it back to Danny.

He looked a little surprise, and took it from her, his fingers skimming lightly across the her soft skin. "You're not mad, Montana?"

Lindsay gave him a considering look.

"More frustrated than mad," she explained, faintly upset. "You should have told me, Danny. I had a right to know."

He held up his hands in defense. "I know you did, but Mac kind of has seniority in this."

He paused.

"So, really Lindsay," he took a step closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing alright."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Danny shook his head. "You never could lie very well, Montana."

Lindsay groaned mentally. "Danny, I'm _fine_."

"Right," he scoffed. "You're tied to a murder you had nothing to do with, and you're telling me you're _fine_? You expect me to believe that?"

"How do you even know for certain I'm not involved?" she countered, her voice growing an octane.

He was really pushing her buttons. All she wanted was to be left alone - for the entire thing to be over with.

"You're not involved, Lindsay," Danny snarled, face twisted into anger. "You wouldn't do something like this."

Lindsay was practically seething by now. "Wouldn't I?"

It was rhetorical almost. And it made Danny freeze. She'd said it quietly - desperately, just about.

"Linds…are you _confessing_?"

"I - _no_," Lindsay rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I didn't do it. I didn't…_kill_ him. I just-" she licked her lips uncertainly "- I -I just wanted you to understand that you can't let your…rela-_friendship_ with me hurt the case."

Relationship. She almost said 'relationship' instead of 'friendship'.

'_Nice save, Monroe_,' she thought bitterly to herself. '_That was a close one_.'

"Lindsay…you know I would never do anything to purposefully hurt you," he paused. "Or anyone else I care about. Right?"

She gulped. "Right."

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

"Excuse me. Detective Taylor?"

Mac woke up from his brooding and reflecting and looked up. A young, blond lab technician stood in the door frame of his office.

"This package just arrived," she walked in and handed it to him. "It wasn't addressed to anyone. Just said 'Crime Lab'."

He nodded, taking the bulky off-white package from her. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, and walked back out.

He took a quick look for the return address. There wasn't one. It was simply addressed to 'Crime Lab'. Obviously, this hadn't been mailed.

He shook the envelope and realized that whatever it was inside, there was a lot of it.

Popping open the tabs on the back, he shook out the contents.

Photographs.

Ballpark figure - two dozen.

All of Lindsay.

And all taken within the last 24 hours.

_**(A/N): Yay! Celebration for an actual update! I apologize for any spelling and/or grammar errors.  
**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Skeletons**

_**(A/N): It's a miracle, isn't it?**_

An angel and a devil sat on each of Mac's shoulders.

Mac knew he had to follow protocol, and in doing so, he knew he had to give these pictures to the Chief. But Mac also knew he had to protect Lindsay, and the Chief's number one priority was not protecting Lindsay, but catching the killer.

The options were weighed on a mental scale. Allow Lindsay to see the pictures before the Chief had a chance to, or handover the pictures as proper procedure asked him to.

Mac frowned.

He was normally man of law and justice - but this was one time he was willing to make an exception. After all, he'd already copied the photos from the crime scene without permission.

It was becoming an entire day of law bending.

'_I'm on a roll_,' he mused sardonically.

Taking out his cell phone, he sped dialed Lindsay.

_**CSI:NY CSI:NY CSI:NY**_

"Maybe I can retire early and got to Tahiti," Lindsay murmured to herself, stirring her coffee. "I hear it's nice this time of year."

A vibrating sensation in her pocket broke her contemplations.

'_Mac Taylor_' read the caller ID.

She frowned. '_What now?_'

"Monroe."

"Lindsay," Mac's voice held a hindrance to it. "Meet me in office now."

"Why? What's wrong?"

A pause. "You'll know when you get here."

That alone caused a chill to up and down Lindsay's spine.

"Alright," she said, though rather hesitantly. "I'll be right there."

The walk to Mac's office seemed to drag. She wasn't sure if she was going there slowly on purpose, or if time was giving her a break. Either way, she wished the walk lasted even longer.

"Close the door, Lindsay," Mac instructed the moment she walked in.

She did so, allowing it to shut with a resounding click.

"What is it, Mac?" she asked, unsure if she really wanted to know.

"You better sit down for this Lindsay," Mac suggested. "And this time, please do as I say."

Déjà vu.

Lindsay sat down, her heart pounding insanely. "Mac, you're making me a bit worried here."

Mac gazed at her carefully, reconsidering what he was about to unchain on her. He shook his head in frustration. Lindsay deserved to know, and she had to find out from him. It was better it came from him than from the Chief of Police.

He held up a manila envelope, and Lindsay felt her heart drop.

"W-what," she paused, gulping. "What's that?"

Mac exhaled noisily. "I think you know what this is."

He popped the tabs - an action that had come to be a little too familiar to Lindsay - and shook out the insides.

Pictures. _Again_.

Lindsay felt the deep inset of her nails from her tightly formed fists, and she knew that without a doubt her knuckles were whiter than the painted walls.

"Oh, god."

"I have a feeling," Mac said, sitting down, "that Mark Mayor was not your photographer."

Lindsay remained silent, not taking her eyes off of the photographs. They'd all been taken recently. Most of them had her in her pale pink cardigan, which was what she was wearing yesterday.

She felt sick.

"Mark Mayor was a decoy," Mac continued. "He was killed accidentally-on-purpose. Your true stalker was just looking for someone to kill so he or she could place these pictures somewhere for us to discover. For _you_ to discover."

Lindsay looked up. "Someone completely…_innocent_ died because some jerk wanted to give me a bunch of pictures?"

"No," Mac shook his head jadedly. "Someone completely innocent died because some jerk wanted to catch your attention."

A weighty guilt crawled its way through Lindsay's body.

"Can you think of anyone?" Mac asked. "Anyone from your past maybe that might want to hurt you?"

"…Hurt me?"

_Gray eyes. Steel gray eyes. The same color as his gun. Completely cold and desolate. And all she saw was red. _

"Lindsay? _Lindsay_."

She snapped out of her reverie at Mac's authoritative voice, the color entirely drained from her face and hands shaking.

"Everyone's got skeletons in their closet, Lindsay," Mac said. "Even you."

He crossed his arms and regarded her critically, but gently. "What demons are you trying to hide?"

The question was short and simple, but packed a powerful punch. And it undoubtedly caused her to tear up.

Steel gray eyes flashed across her memory for a second time. And she knew she had to tell.

"…Mac," her voice was trembling, and she stared deliberately into the eyes of her boss and friend. "I should have told you a long time ago."

_**CSI: NY CSI:NY CSI: NY**_

Danny walked the corridors of the crime scene lab in search of a cute, brunette CSI, wondering where she disappeared off to.

"Hey, Hawkes" he saw his colleague walking ahead of him. "You seen Lindsay?"

"I think she might be in Mac's office, still," he said, looking thoughtful. "I saw her going in there."

Danny nodded a thanks.

"Oh, and hey," Hawkes whispered, pulling him back before he could go looking for her. "Word has it, the Chief knew we tampered with those photos."

A frown immediately replaced Danny's passive features. "I'm not surprised."

"If this keeps up, the Chief might actually take away Mac's badge."

Danny shook his head and scoffed. "Over Mac's dead body."

Hawkes looked despondent, his shoulders faintly slouched.. "It may just come down to that."

"Hey, Messer!"

Hawkes and Danny looked up to see Flack jogging - no, _running_ - toward them, an alarming expression on his face.

"I've been looking for you guys everywhere," he said, waving a manila packet in the air. "Is Mac in his office?"

"Probably," Hawkes answered, tilted his head in the direction of their bosses quarters. "I think Lindsay's with him."

Flack halted. "Lindsay?"

Danny raised a curious eyebrow at him. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Lindsay."

The detective's pallor seemed to grow paler.

"This can't wait," he muttered, and marched off to Mac's office.

Danny and Hawkes exchanged looks of worry before following him.

_**CSI: NY CSI:NY CSI: NY**_

The recount had taken less than ten minutes, but it felt like forever. And when she was finally finished, a silence followed that left a shady feeling in the atmosphere.

"You really _should_ have told me sooner, Lindsay," Mac finally said, eyebrows scrunched together in apprehension. "You're in the Witness Protection Program, then?"

Lindsay looked at him through tearstained eyes and nodded. "Yes."

Mac leaned back in his chair, letting out a deep breath. "You understand that this whole ordeal has now become bigger than me?" It was more of a statement than an actual question. "We have to inform the program. The Feds will get involved. This will become government priority."

Lindsay nodded again, feeling undeniably guilty. "I'm sorry Mac."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Lindsay," he said in an understanding but drained voice. "You were in the program, after all. In order to protect yourself, you had to keep it all a secret. You were just following the rules. And I can only expect that from one of my best CSIs."

She wiped the remaining tears from her face with a wavering hand, permitting a smile to come through her saddened expression.

Flack chose that moment to come barging in, Danny and Hawkes tailing him.

Lindsay jumped from her seat in surprise, staring at the three. Mac remained seated, eyes zoned in on Flack's right hand that currently clasped an incredibly familiar envelope. And once again, there was writing on it.

Flack held up the package. "You are not going to believe what was just dropped off at the precinct."

Eyes blazing, Mac held his hand out for the envelope. "Try me."

_**CSI: NY CSI:NY CSI: NY**_

Stella was walking back from the break room, cradling a cup of coffee to her office when she realized that she had not passed a single member of her team in the halls. In fact, it was surprisingly quiet.

Deciding to brush it off, she made her way to her office and happened to glance into Lindsay's.

And she froze in her steps.

On Lindsay's desk, right next to her keyboard, laid a thin, off-white envelope. She could tell from where she was standing that there was very pretty cursive writing on it. An unsettling feeling crawled through Stella's spine, and with curiosity getting the better of her, she slowly walked to Lindsay's desk.

The envelope was addressed to 'Lindsay', and that was all that was written. Puckered browed, she picked up it up. It wasn't even sealed, and Stella could tell from the edges of the item that there was a single Polaroid photograph.

The unsettling feeling that had previously run through Stella's veins was gone, and horrible fear had replaced it.

A photo, and it was addressed to Lindsay.

Stella hastily ran out of the office.

_**CSI: NY CSI:NY CSI: NY**_

There weren't as many pictures this time, but it was doubtlessly due to the fact that they were taken within the last 24 hours and left over from the last batch.

Danny stood with arms crossed and legs spread shoulder width apart, glowering at all the pictures laid out on Mac's desk

"This," Danny growled, waving his pointed finger at all the photos, "_This_ is insane, Mac."

"I know, Danny."

"Exactly what does this guy want?" Flack asked.

A look was swapped amid Mac and Lindsay - a silent exchange and promise that this would stay between them until the proper authorities were involved.

But by the way things were developing, Lindsay felt it was probably better if she just spilled her guts to her team and then proceed to hope that everything worked out in the end.

As she was mulling this over, the door to Mac's office was thrown open a second time.

Stella's sharp heels rushed in and promptly handed Mac a thin, standard envelope.

Surprise, Mac stared at it.

"It's addressed to Lindsay, Stella," Mac said.

Lindsay looked up at the mention of her name. "Me?"

"I know," Stella said in a hurry. "I saw it on Lindsay's desk."

She paused. "…There's a Polaroid in there, Mac."

"Polaroid?" Lindsay repeated in disbelief.

Mac instantly flipped the flap of the envelop, took out the picture, and nearly dropped it in shock.

There in the picture, was Lindsay, sitting in the same chair she'd just sat down in moments ago when she was telling her story. And right across from her, to the right slightly, was Mac, sitting in his desk chair and listening to her intently.

The blinds of Mac's office window blinds were completely open, allowing a clear - albeit far away - shot.

The photo couldn't have been taken more than twenty minutes prior.

Mac couldn't refrain from simply staring at the startling and unexpected picture.

"…He was watching us."

_**(A/N): And ANOTHER cliff hanger. I'm starting to get really good at this. Hope you like this installment! And thanks for sticking with me!**_


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